


Why so Serious?

by GothamsGirl



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst, AyerHarley, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, NolanJoker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamsGirl/pseuds/GothamsGirl
Summary: The rain, a heavy downpour that runs streaks down her apartment windows, obscuring the city outside. Perfect. The pitterpatter of raindrops, the scent of freshly bloomed daffodils filling the room. Harley's favorite.Her heart leaps into her throat when a tap, tap, tap sounds from the doorway. She keeps herself from running to the door though, mind immediately deciding it has to be hearing things-Tap, tap.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this popped into my head and wouldn't get out.

Poison Ivy was not _worried_.

Not her, goddess of the earth, mother nature in the flesh, force of nature that broke men of power with simple command to the green. Poison Ivy, she decided, was just _curious_. Like when a new plant gene-modification makes a flower blue, or a vine learns how to burn through bone. Simply _intrigued_.

The redhead hasn't seen a certain loud, annoying, possively cute clown girl for four months. Not that that hasn't happened before, one bad knockout from the Dark Knight and one of them being carried away to Arkham could result in months of silence.

But Harley, poor doormat Harley, isn't in Arkham. She's not on the news, she isn't even doing heists with her beloved _Pudding_.

Ivy's face twists at the very thought of _him_ , his bony hands on her best (only) friend, green hair greasy and eyes black like darkest of hollylocks that bloom in her greenhouse. _He_ , she is sure, is at fault for the lack of visits as of late.

She swirls the red wine that remains in the crystal glass (stolen) that rests in her hands, watching the crimson liquid splash around in it's confindment. Eyes, rimmed red and swollen, following the path of splashes of acholol that spill from the top of the glassware as she twirls her fingers around the stem just a little too fast, droplets falling fast to make tiny stains in the sofa.

Harley, in previous visits, always would bleed on the couch. Crying about Joker and accidents and _he really does love me, Red_. She'd flipped the cushions after the third month of silence.

Ivy's TV is on, the volume low enough she can hear the plants around her talking softly to each other. Worried gossip about her, of course, they could never relax when the one they loved so was on edge.

There was the fleeting thought today that, it could be very true, Harley was _dead_. But Pamela had chased off the train of consciousness with hours of lab work and a good cry she would deny to even herself.

The rain, a heavy downpour that runs streaks down her apartment windows, obscuring the city outside. Perfect. The pitterpatter of raindrops, the scent of freshly bloomed daffodils filling the room. Harley's favorite.

Her heart leaps into her throat when a _tap, tap, tap_ sounds from the doorway. She keeps herself from running to the door though, mind immediately deciding it has to be hearing things-

Tap, _tap_. Defeated, yet anxious all in those two little noises. Pamela knows them like the leaves of a maple tree, like the petals of a foxtrot, and she shoots off to couch faster than seeds blossom in spring.

Flinging the door open, uncaring of a stranger because Poison Ivy doesn't not get visitors, ever. Her suspicions are right when standing on her welcome mat is something like a drowned rat with blonde, pink and blue on top.  
There is so, so much Ivy wants to yell about. About how phones exist, letters, even the damn _Batman_ would of taken a message, but Harley is looking up at her with big baby blues and fluttering eyelashes, wet coat a dark red color with the rain water weighing her down.

The girl's voice cracks, breaks like ice being chipped away when she greets, "Hiya Red."

There is something off, from the way the ugly orange scarf wrapped all the way up to her nose, which is red like a rose under the light hanging above, muffles her words. To the way Harley isn't already hugging the breath away from her.

"Hi." Pam settles on, watching carefully as this puzzle that is Harley Quinn bounces on her feet. Nervous. But she knows Harley, knows that she is afraid of rejection so she offers, "Come in?"

Harley sheds her coat and gloves quickly, shaking out her hair like a wet dog. The door clicks quietly behind them as Pam sits her friend down on the sofa she'd been minutes before.

"Where have you been?" Ivy asks, pulling shut the buttons of the green flannel she'd put on to keep warm. Underneath the white tee is stained with wine from her earlier carelessness, legs exposed by shorts and tanned even in the horrible weather of Gotham.

"Places." Harley answers, shrugs away the question, "Banks to rob, people to kill."

"We both know you haven't been doing any of _that_ , daffiodil." Pam strokes the blonde's arms as she speaks, trying to warm the flesh under the sleeves of her red turtleneck. Reaching up, she tries to pull down the scarf, "Let's get this off of-"

"No!" Harley squeaks, jumping away like she'd been burned by the mere graze of Pam's fingertips on her face. Readjusting the orange fabric, her face heating to a deep blush as she mumbles under the material, " _Please_ don't."

"What's wrong?" Pam is suddenly so worried, her heart beats twice as fast, going on like a jackhammer in her chest cavity as Harley does not answer, does not meet her eyes. "Harls, tell me."

"I can't." Finally the clown spits it out, her eyes filling to the brim with tears that spill with the next words that come, "You'll _hate_ me."

"I could _never_ hate you." Ivy honestly states. Harley, her Harley could chop down an entire forest and Pamela could forgive her as soon as she'd be given a dopey grin and a soft and meaningful _sorry_.

"Mistah J," Harley doesn't say it with her usual ease, lacking the loving breathy way she tends to speak the name, "He really did somethin' _bad_."

"What did he do?"

"He…" Harley chokes on her words but recovers, "He didn't want me comin' over no more. Said you and me, we were too close." Harley's hands shake, "I told him that, that you actually loved me unlike him, and Pammy, he got so _angry_."

Pam grabs one of the girl's hands, rubs her thumb along the palm and listens,

"Said you only liked me because I was pretty." Harley's shoulders drooped, "Said you wouldn't like me if all the ugly inside went inside out. But he did. He liked the _ugly_."

Pamela corrects her, "You aren't ugly. Inside. Outside. I love you," Pam had only said those words twice, "Because you are kind, smart, and _funny_."

"But Red," She tears up more, the salty trails dripping down her cheeks to soak into the scarf, "He made me _really_ ugly."

Ivy thinks, of what to say, of what to expect. Joker was unpredictable, and Harley seemed more distraught then she'd ever seen before. Choosing her next words carefully, she tells Harley,

"I'll love you no matter what."

And Harley says back,

"I'll love you more."

Painfully, Harley grabs the fabric around her neck and pulls, letting it fall into her lap slowly and she closes her eyes. Not wanting to see Pam's reaction, disgust, pity, anger.

Pamela takes it in, the long scars running from the corners of Harley's mouth up into a chilling smile, the wounds obviously were deep and brutal, made in hopes of permanent placement. The soft skin of Harley's cheek is a pale background to the pink raised skin and Pam tries not to cry for her.

But Harley is sitting there with her eyes squeezed shut, waiting for some type of verdict. Did she think this mattered? That what he did could shoo Pamela away like a rabbit out of the carrot patch?

Gathering nerve she leans in, places her hands on either side of her best friend's face and kisses her like the world is ending, like the entire globe is exploding and Pam feels Harley go rigid before relaxing into the action.

There are tears, and there are sobs. Harley wails, breaking the contact so Pam lays wet kisses against the scar tissue, running her fingers along her jaw.

"I can't feel them," Harley admits, "It's all numb."

Another kiss. Hotter, more desperate, Pam pushes her partner back, following her down as she falls against the cushions, breathing heavily.

"Do you hate me?" Harley. Stupid, love of her life Harley has the nerve to ask.

"Not in the least bit," Pamela lays kisses in between the valley of the girl's breasts, every minute they missed together building up inside like a hot ball of fire, "You could look like Croc, and I wouldn't even mind."

Harley pulls Ivy back up, the tips of their noses touching, breathing the same puffs of air, and lips meet again, break apart and Harley questions, lust heavy in her tone,

"Then you will help me?"

"Help you with what darling?" Pam kisses her cheek, uncaring of the marks. Dragging the blonde's earlobe between her teeth she rocks against her.

"Why," Harley smiles, wide and happy and Pamela doesn't even notice the new addition of length on either side,

"We're going to kill the Joker."


End file.
